


The Importance of Being Clean Shaven

by Irollforinitiative



Series: Mystrade Fluff Drabbles [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Sex, Stubble Burn, and political meetings, tend not to go well together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irollforinitiative/pseuds/Irollforinitiative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft finds out the hard way that having a job in politics and a man at home who prefers to not shave over weekends do not go well together.  Unmitigated fluff for a prompt by the lovely Mystradedoodles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Being Clean Shaven

  
Podfic version found[ HERE](http://irollforinitiative.tumblr.com/post/30883922657/title-the-importance-of-being-clean-shaven)

 

 

  
Mycroft arched his back and gasped as Greg readjusted his hips and continued to press into his lover.  Mycroft slid a hand into Greg’s hair, pulling him close for a deep kiss.  As their tongues pressed and surged against one another, he became dimly aware of how scratchy Greg’s face was.  That was one of the accepted facts of life when one is dating a man.  Especially if the man in question was a very crass and often uncouth Detective Inspector who refused to shave on weekends.  Usually it bothered Mycroft.  He would frown and pull away when Greg would kiss him unshaven.  This happened a few times usually before Greg would cave and shave.    
  
However, that was not true this weekend.  Mycroft had just returned from a fortnight overseas dealing with, as he had put it, “minor political unrest.” Normally two weeks apart wasn’t terribly severe.  But as they had just moved in together the previous month, it was painful to not spend every night of the week shagging endlessly or, at least, finding time for a quick grope before work.  So Mycroft had returned home.  And Greg had cooked dinner.  A dinner that was currently sitting on the kitchen table feeding the flies.  Mycroft’s bag was still by the door where he’d dropped it to kiss Greg.  But then the kiss didn’t end. And they found themselves in bed moaning and pressing into one another roughly as Greg’s rough face scraped across Mycroft’s smooth cheek with each motion.  
  
Mycroft bore his neck to Greg who gave the skin its due time, making sure any marks were far below the collar line.  Mycroft held Greg’s hair tightly and pulled him up for another round of snogging before he found himself coming entirely undone, panting into Greg’s mouth.  Greg too found himself on the brink and before long they had stopped kissing properly and were mostly pressing open mouths together and panting for air as their bodies dried and became tacky.  Mycroft chuckled and sighed.  
  
“Good lord I’ve missed you.  I’ve missed you enough that I don’t even mind the beard.”  
  
Greg frowned playfully, “It’s hardly a beard.  More of a five o’clock shadow.”  
  
“My darling, that is a proper beard in my world.” he ran his hand across Greg’s scratchy chin.  
  
“Your world is all about being entirely laced up.  It feels good to let down.”  
  
Mycroft slipped out of bed and stretched, “I’m not growing a beard, Gregory.”  
  
Greg slipped out too and went to turn on the shower for their post coital clean up, “Just one day? Or just shave only once a day instead of twice.”  
  
“No.  But I will shave yours for you.” Mycroft pulled out his shaving kit and straight razor.  
  
Greg smiled wide and slipped into the shower, “If you would shave me every time, I’d stay perfectly smooth all the time.”  
  
“While I would potentially like that, I’m dating you, not a diplomat.  I do like your scruff a bit at times.” Mycroft followed Greg into the shower.  
  
After they quickly rinsed off their torsos and Mycroft dealt with some of the unsavory aspects of being properly rogered by one’s lover, they dried off and donned dressing gowns.  Each man’s fit their personalities.  Mycroft’s was lush and elegant emerald green cotton.  Greg’s was soft and fluffy plaid flannel.  Greg sat patiently on the closed toilet while Mycroft prepared the shaving kit and gently began to lather his face.  Greg hummed and closed his eyes.  
  
“God that feels good.”  
  
“Now you know why I do it every.  Usually twice.”  
  
“You don’t usually do all the pomp and circumstance every day.  Stop trying to justify it.  You just like to be clean shaven.”  
  
“I do.  I have sensitive skin. It becomes irritated if I do not shave.”  
  
Greg rolled his eyes but stayed very still as Mycroft began to gently scrape the straight razor across Greg’s cheeks. Mycroft was well practiced and finished quickly, wiping Greg’s cheeks and then kissing each of them.  
  
“There. Perfectly smooth.”  
  
“Thanks, love.  Hopefully I didn’t give you stubble burn.”  
  
Mycroft’s face fell and he scowled at Greg, “Stubble burn?”  
  
“Oy,  I forget how poncy the men you’ve dated have always been.  When you kiss someone who needs a shave sometimes your face gets irritated and red from their stubble.”  
  
Mycroft’s eyes went wide as he moved to examine himself in the mirror with a groan, “Damn it Gregory, how do I explain this to the leaders of three Middle Eastern countries tomorrow?”  
  
“You were up late praying and your new prayer rug is rough?”  
  
Mycroft chuckled and sighed, “I shall have to come up with something that won’t offend their culture, now won’t I?”  
  
The next morning Greg woke up to the sound of Mycroft groaning in the bathroom.  Mycroft stood in front of the mirror and examined his red face.  To anyone well versed in kissing men, the tiny red dots would be an instant give-away.  Perhaps he could come up with another excuse. Rash? Illness? Allergic reaction? In the end he put on his salmon tie and a tan suit that played down the redness. Greg blushed when he saw Mycroft.    
  
“Still sorry about that, love.”  
  
“Think nothing of it.  Telling others at work that I had an allergic reaction for a day or so is entirely worth it when I get to greet you as I did last night after a fortnight apart.”  
  
“Okay.  Just one thing Mycroft.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Who the fuck says ‘fortnight’ in real life.”  
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes, “I do.”  
  
After a quick breakfast and a slow kiss goodbye, Mycroft headed in to work.  He knew the day would be long as soon as Anthea saw him.    
  
“That’s a very nice color on you, sir.” She grinned as she spoke.    
  
Mycroft only glared. When he walked into the meeting with the three men who held analogous positions to his own, he was met with confused stares.  The man from Saudi Arabia spoke first.  
  
“Mister Holmes, if this is not a good day, we can reschedule.”  
  
Mycroft ran a hand across his cheek self consciously, “No, no.  I’m fine.  Merely an adverse reaction to some shellfish in last night’s supper. Let us begin.”  
  
The man from Qatar spoke next, “Shellfish? Doesn’t that usually cause swelling or hospitalization?”  
  
“Not in me.  Now, did you have time to read the plan?”  
  
“That looks like razor burn.  You should invest in a nice razor.” the man from Iran spoke up.    
  
“It’s not that.  Please.  Let us focus.” Mycroft’s face was red and he had begun to sweat just a little, his normal calm cool broken slightly by their questions.  
  
“It looks like something I know it cannot be.” the man from Saudi Arabia laughed.  
  
Mycroft blanched, “And what is that”  
  
“Stubble burn.”  
  
Mycroft laughed neatly and nodded, “No.  Couldn’t be that.  Now then, let us finish the meeting.”  
  
The man from Qatar was about to open his mouth again when Anthea swept in from the back of the room with the tea tray.  Mycroft made a mental note to give her a day off soon.  She was truly irreplaceable.  After that the meeting went smoothly.  After it was over Mycroft fled the room with an acceptable amount of handshaking and smiling.  He was fleeing to his office when the Prime Minister walked by and grinned knowingly at him.  It was the final straw for Mycroft as he watched the man’s eyes knowingly trace the redness on Mycroft’s cheeks. He rounded on his heel and suddenly became very thankful for the power associated with his “minor position” as he shouted at the Prime Minister.  
  
“I bloody well know that I have stubble burn! I cannot help the fact that I was caught up in the moment and failed to realize it was happening.  We’re not all in relationships that are neat and easy.  Sometimes I have stubble burn.  Get the bloody fuck over it!!”  
  
Mycroft cleared his throat politely and nodded, pulling on the cuffs of his shirt before walking away, the P.M. staring at Mycroft with wide eyes.    
  
That evening he returned home and burst through the door, entirely too pleased that the day was over.  Greg grimaced when he looked up from the case he was working on at the kitchen table.  
  
“Rough day?”  
  
“I shouted at the Prime Minister.”  
  
Greg’s eyes went wide, “You did what?!”  
  
“Shouted.  At him.  About the stubble burn.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes wide.  
  
“Oh lord.  I promise to shave daily.  I’ll even do it twice daily.  I’m sorry.”  
  
Mycroft shook his head and walked over to Greg who had stood up and wrapped his arms around him, “You’ll do no such thing.  You’ll be yourself and I’ll learn to make you shave before we shag like teenagers.  Though I will get my revenge.”  
  
Greg raised an eyebrow, “Oh? How so?”  
  
“Livid love bite on your neck right here.” he pointed to a visible spot just below Greg’s ear.  
  
“But there’s nothing there.”  
  
“There will be by the time you go in to work tomorrow. Oh and it should be warm. No reason to wear a scarf.” He grinned and leaned down to kiss Greg soundly.


End file.
